True Love and Other Scandalous Gossip
by Yutaan
Summary: It's supposed to be a glass slipper, not a gold Puzzle, and everyone agrees that the prince, though charming, is also a bit mad. Puzzleshipping, Tendershipping. Here, have some fluff for Valentine's Day.


A/N: Hello, ladies an' gents! Back I am again, this time with 90 percent more fluff in honor of that beautiful holiday that is in no way a marketing ploy, Valentine's Day. Hey, any holiday that encourages copious amounts of chocolate-eating is a good holiday in _my_ book.

Puzzleshipping, mostly, with a touch of Tendershipping since for some reason I seem to be _physically incapable of not including it, what_. Just you wait, strange Tendershipping compulsion, someday I'll write a Hostshipping fic or something AND THAT WILL SHOW YOU.

Disclaimer: I don't own this franchise, etc. etc., and I am quite aware that this disclaimer has no actual legal functions whatsoever, sooo... technically I could claim that I owned Yu-Gi-Oh all I wanted, and it would not really matter. But I won't claim such a thing. Because that would make me a lying liar. Who lies.

Enjoy!

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True Love and Other Scandalous Gossip

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Once upon a time, word went round the city that the prince was looking for his bride.

Well, those weren't the exact words. More like the prince was looking for someone who could beat him in a game.

Well... that wasn't quite the word either. Actually, the word was, "The prince's gone off mad, he has." Because everyone knew that nobody could beat the prince in a game. But there you had it – the prince careening around in the palace carriage, hadn't even brought a footman or driver with him. Just rattling along with the reigns tight in his hands, his queer necklace flashing against his chest, and the biggest grin you ever saw stretched right across his face. Always was an odd one, that prince.

"But wait, wait, so he's looking to marry someone who can beat him in a game? Seems a bit strange to me – he said he'd never marry, didn't he, and you'd think he'd know better than anyone his own winning record, at least."

"That's the thing! Word is now that somebody _did_ beat him!"

"Wot!"

So then the story got round. There'd been a ball the night before, hundreds of people had been invited – respectable people, most of whom had never once engaged in a duel to the death; the king had seen to that. The queen had seen that the palace was suitably decorated. The prince had stated loudly that he was not to marry any of these respectable people, thank you very much, and then leapt off the balcony into the rose-bushes.

"And now he's all raring t' marry? But he didn't even play a game 'gainst any of the guests, did he?"

"How scandalous! He must have met someone in the garden."

"They say the prince broke his Puzzle when he landed, and this mystery girl was passin' by and just fixed it right up!"

"And _then_ beat him?"

"I don't believe it," said the dance-mistress's apprentice, hotly. The whole city knew that she'd been smitten with the prince for ages. "There's nobody who could beat him. This is ridiculous – don't you think?" she asked the toymaker's grandson, who always followed her around. He blushed and said something to his shoes.

At noon, new gossip. Someone had stopped the prince's carriage in the middle of town! The weavers left their looms, the butchers left their bloody pigs' heads, and everyone raced down to the square. There was the armorer's son, still attired in his magnificent white suit from the ball, the one with the long tails that his page had to gather up by the armful to keep them from being stepped on. The armorer's son stood, chin lifted, blocking the prince's path. The prince looked down from his perch on the coach, his expression unreadable.

"Your Highness," said the armorer's son ("Ooh, listen to that! Makes 'Your Highness' sound like a right insult!" tittered the crowd), "you have gravely insulted me. I traveled to your palace to play a game with you, and you fled. I can only assume that you were too afraid to face me and risk losing your reputation. Nevertheless, I will allow you another chance to duel. In fact, I insist upon it."

"He ain't marrying you, Kaiba!" someone shouted. The page made an offended noise, but the prince lifted one hand to silence him, lifted the Puzzle-necklace with the other, and proclaimed,

"I meant no disrespect, sir. If you can disassemble and reassemble this, then I will be glad to duel you."

The armorer's son sneered. But a prince is a prince, so he took the Puzzle, studied it, and then broke it swiftly over his knee. The page crawled around after the pieces as he tried to fit them back together.

The shadows got longer, and sweat ran down the faces of the onlookers. Finally, after near an hour, the armorer's son stiffly handed the half-completed puzzle back to the prince. "Another time, then," the prince said. _Click-click-click_, he fit the pieces back together – _snap-snap_, he whipped the horses – _rattle-roar_, he galloped off down the road. The armorer's son strode away in a dignified manner, and the page ran after him, holding up his coattails.

"Knew it couldn't be Kaiba," said the dancing-mistress's assistant. The toymaker's grandson nodded, looking uncharacteristically pleased about the armorer's son's humiliation.

Town was quiet for a bit, then – "Bless my heart, the baker's gone and tried to rob him!" shrieked the shepherd's daughter. And so horses were abandoned, plows were left stuck upright in the dirt, and everyone ran down to the backroads. There was the baker, apparently covered head to foot in flour (not that one could tell, what with his white hair and all), waving about a butter knife. There was the prince, seeming somewhat disconcerted.

"Play me a game, will you, prince? I promise to be fair!"

"I don't think I shall," the prince replied. "At least not until you put down that knife – indeed, not until you admit that that knife is not even a weapon, and _then_ put it down."

But the baker, who everyone knew had a taste for fine gold, paid him no mind. He jumped right up and then – quick as you like – he'd snapped the thin chain from around the prince's neck, and was running off with the Puzzle. The prince leapt down from the coach, looking fierce as thunder. Everyone was sure that the baker was going to be executed horribly or worse. They all covered their eyes.

"But then, out of nowhere, the baker's assistant comes running, and he tackles the thief!"

"Goodness! The quiet one, the one who makes those delicious little cream puffs?"

"Yes, the one with the white hair. The baker's cousin."

"His 'cousin.'"

"His _distant_ cousin.' They're right close for such distant cousins, aren't they?"

Everyone shook their heads at how deliciously scandalous it all was. But then the toymaker's grandson cried, "But did he get it back? T-The prince, I mean."

Oh yes, the baker's assistant dragged his master back and had him return the Puzzle, apologizing profusely the whole while, and the prince had knighted him on the spot. But then the prince'd galloped off again, while the assistant gave the baker such a scolding that the cream curdled in the puffs. And everybody returned to work.

Not much work got done that day, though. Someone was always accosting the prince. The Puzzle was passed around and around. It seemed everyone in the city had a go at it. But eventually the sky turned red, and people began to close their shops. The prince's carriage stood in the town center, the horses pawing nervously at the ground, the prince himself sitting slumped on the bench with the reigns in his lap. He looked very tired; he put a hand over his face.

"Maybe we should go do something..."

"What, bother him again after the long day he's had? No. Better to let him be."

"But he seems so sad... _Look!_"

Someone was walking towards the coach, holding a cup of water. It was the toymaker's grandson, with his cap pulled low over his face. The shopkeepers saw him hand up the cup, heard the prince thank him, saw the boy begin walking away. Then –

"I say!"

The prince flailed, spilled the water, and fell off his carriage. "I say – You! Wait – a moment of your time –"

The toymaker's grandson did what anyone would do faced with a tired, talented, and possibly-crazy prince would do. He took off running.

The prince did something very few princes would do faced with a small, shy, and possibly-crazy boy dashing away. He pulled off his pinching boots, shrugged out of his heavy embroidered overcoat, and took off after him.

"Really!"

"Yes!"

Scandalous!

He chased the toymaker's grandson all the way to the toy shop, where the boy slammed the door. The prince stood outside banging on it. They could be heard shouting back and forth, the prince asking to be let in, the boy saying he was sorry, he was sorry, he should never have been in the gardens at all and he _certainly_ shouldn't have – oh, but do leave, it would never work out, it couldn't. Everyone stared dumbfounded through their windows, because the prince jumping off a balcony or running around shoeless was one thing, whereas the toymaker's grandson actually raising his voice was _quite_ another. But they might have gone on shouting forever, if not for –

"Then what happened? Oh, then what happened?"

Well, eventually the toymaker appeared, his gray moustache bristling out like it always did when he was alarmed. He and the prince had a long talk on the stoop. Nobody knows quite what was said – but it might have been about how the shop had stopped pulling in any money and the family had to move; that was all the toymaker had been talking about for weeks. Eventually the prince stood up straight, murmured something, and then walked, very respectfully and very, very barefoot, into the shop. The door closed; the bell jingled.

Everything was quiet for a while. Then a great shout went up – a delighted shout. That soon ended, though. Then, there were bangs – horrible loud bangs like a gun-duel or swords rattling on armor – the sounds of the dangerous, slightly mad games most beloved by the kind-hearted, but slightly mad, prince. Then things were quiet again. They were quiet for a long time. It was like the whole city was holding its breath (the whole city, save for the baker, who crept up to the prince's abandoned carriage and stole the expensive overcoat).

At last, though, there was a final bang, and a jingle. The prince swung open the door of the toy shop.

Everyone peering out of their windows gasped. The prince's face was black with soot, his clothes were ripped, and one of his eyebrows had been burned clean off. But he was smiling – an ever bigger grin than he'd had that morning – and bless his heart, the toymaker's grandson stood beside him, looking up from the ground for once, the prince's hand clutched tight in his!

"What's happened?" cried the dance-mistress's apprentice, running up. "What's – oh!" She stared at the prince and the boy. "Oh –" Tears welled up in her eyes. "Oh, Yuugi – I'm so _proud_ of you!" And she threw her arms around the boy's neck, as the prince waved the toymaker over.

"I'd like to help your shop, if I may," he said, over the crying.

The toymaker's moustache bristled. "Begging your pardon, Your Highness, but I've got m'pride. I couldn't let you just bail me out, no matter how fond of my grandson you are –"

"You misunderstand,"said the prince. "This is an incredible shop. No wonder your grandson plays so well! I'd like to buy as many games from you as possible, to keep us from getting bored. Here –" He placed the beautiful gold Puzzle in the toymaker's hands. "Will that cover it?"

Every eye strained through the windows to try to see whether the Puzzle looked any different – if it had been disassembled and reassembled, as per orders. But no one could tell. The toymaker didn't give any hints. He simply gaped, and blushed, and stammered, "My prince – My dear boy –"

"Thank you," the prince said, and then, to the toymaker's grandson, "and thank _you_."

Yuugi looked up and grinned, shyly. "It was my pleasure."

And the prince and the toymaker's son walked back to the palace, singed, barefoot, and, after the prince stepped on a piece of broken pottery, limping. But both of them were smiling like July itself, like they'd both gained the sweetest victory you ever imagined, and they never once let go of each other's hands.

"Then what happened? Do tell me!"

Well, then, you silly goose –

then word has it that they lived happily ever after.

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A/N: Good night, everyone, and may a Godiva truck crash on your lawns on the 14th. :)

Also, R/R?


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